Σάββατο, 14 Νοεμβρίου 2015


“Say it in broken English”
Marianne Faithfull

There‘s some kind of hermetic connection
between Nana Mouskouri’s spectacles
the machine gun ammo belt tattoo on an anarchist boy’s biceps
and this foreign tongue
that I torture

my friend coghnorti almost touched it
when he spoke about the rudeness of writing or accepting to sing
a fermata on the word “slaves”

Another example: this very moment I am writing poetry
contained in a cozy airtight room
asking “what is this?”
on the news a fortified cauldron prepares warm goulash
for Hungarians ONLY
coghnorti puts his tact aside 
and screams at me with fuming anger:
“Eunøugh!”

[This flooding of symbols, this western neuroticism, my fellow poets?
Oh, how very ridiculous indeed.]




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